


Sweet Cherry Pie

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dark Dean Winchester, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-25 12:11:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/952932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Season 4 AU; Alastair and his best student stop for a quick bite at a diner while on a seal-breaking errand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Cherry Pie

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Jack, who made me appreciate Alastair a lot more, and who I view as an authority on the character.

_But I’m just a soul whose intentions are good_

_Oh Lord, please don’t let me be misunderstood_

Dean meticulously picked at his slice of pie; if Alastair had taught him anything, Dean had left hell with serious attention to detail. It paid off to have that focus on his prey, whether it was a soul screaming on the rack or an unassuming dessert drenched in whip cream.

Alastair knew they ought to get a move on with the seal they were tasked to break in this town, but if he couldn’t take a moment to enjoy the fruits of his labor, what was the fucking point? Dean was humming along with the tinny radio; he seemed to lose himself in his food and was probably not aware he was making any sound at all. Alastair allowed him more indulgences than any of his past projects; Dean’s love of music had been untarnished by his transformation under Alastair’s blades.

So absorbed in his slow demolition of his pie was he that the waitress’s arrival at their booth caused him to drop his fork with surprise.

"Sorry there, sweetheart! How are we doing on coffee over here?" Alastair smiled congenially up at her. She was a pleasantly dumpy little woman, all crooked teeth and lip liner and dark roots. Even though she was still alive, she almost appeared to be rotting. How delightful. Dean was practically vibrating with tension; he’d lost most of his ability to communicate with practically anyone but Alastair, and this simple interaction was stressing him out. Time to push some buttons.

"Well, aren’t you just the sweetest thing? I think we will have some more, and bring my boy here another slice of pie? You’re still hungry for more, aren’t you?" Dean had been staring determinedly down at his plate, but now looked slowly up at her, a gone look in his eyes.

"Sure." She smiled, then frowned a little as it wasn’t returned. Dean’s eyes followed her as she shuffled back into the kitchen. He looked back down at his plate and slowly picked up his fork, hands trembling slightly. He was off balance now; having been newly resurrected for Lucifer’s purposes, he had to be coaxed into human activities such as eating and sleeping. Alastair had been Dean’s caretaker for long enough to know how to motivate him, and allowing Dean to fully extend his hard won skills as a professional torturer would be just what he needed to feel comfortable in his remade skin once more.

As the waitress returned with the fresh pie, Alastair struck up a conversation with her. She was clearly surprised at his flattery, and he smoothly invited her to use her break time chatting with him. Her name was Sheralene; she had three children, all grown, and a dog; she had been waitressing since she was sixteen. A few worried glances were directed at Dean, but her discomfort melted away as Alastair continued to charm her. The tremble in Dean’s arm continued.

"Well, Sherie, I’m sorry we’ve distracted you so long. Dean here is a bit of a slow eater." As she was beginning to stand up, Dean caught her wrist and slammed her hand back onto the table. Several other patrons looked up at the commotion, and Alastair whipped out a hand to lock all the doors and windows.

"Wh-what are you doing?" she shrieked. Dean jammed his fork into her hand, forcing the blunt metal all the way into the table. Screaming erupted on all sides, and Alastair sat back to take another sip of his coffee as his pupil pulled out the knife hidden in his jacked.

————

By the time his cup was empty, room had gone silent. Apparently, the seemingly sturdy radio could not withstand a man’s head being repeatedly bashed into it. Dean stood facing away from him in the middle of the room, covered head to toe in the restaurant’s customers and breathing heavily. Massacre was always good exercise.

"Don’t you look good enough to eat." Alastair walked up behind him, wrapping his arms solidly around Dean’s chest and stomach. Dean leaned back instinctively.

"She talked to you for too long." His nervous shaking had stopped.

"Did she now." Alastair’s hand slid lower, palming over Dean’s cock possessively. The slick seal-breaking blade Dean had used on the afternoon lunch crowd clattered to the floor.

"Was this enough for the seal to break, or do we need to kill more?" Dean’s voice was quiet, small, with almost an innocence to it the question that clashed with their surroundings.

"This is enough Dean." Alastair gripped Dean’s throat, forcing his head back. "You’ve been a good boy, haven’t you?" Alastair let go as Dean whimpered and went to his knees.

Fucking Dean on earth was somewhat trickier business than it had been in hell; reality was less malleable, and Dean wouldn’t heal as quickly if Alastair chose to have too much fun with him here. Still though, pushing his face into the floor sticky with warm human blood was satisfying in its own way.

As he tore off Dean’s clothing, Alastair mused that he’d have to remember to snag himself a copy of the restaurant’s security tape before leaving it in the path of Lucifer’s vessel. On his hands and knees, Dean could hardly anchor himself on the bloody floor, unable to hold onto anything as Alastair roughly pushed into him. Dean reached a hand back to hold onto Alastair’s thigh, pushing himself back onto Alastair’s cock. It was a brutal pace, and Dean strained against the hand at the back of his neck forcing his head to the side into the blood that was beginning to become sticky. The intensity of Dean’s bloodlust had left him raw and less in control; he soon came, body curling into itself. Alastair flipped him onto his back and continued to fuck him, faster than before. What better incentive to come than a fucked out Dean Winchester underneath him, his face half covered in blood. Watching Dean lick the blood of those lips, those fucking lips, sent Alastair over the edge, his power cracking the floor beneath them.

Dean pulled him down for a kiss, more bold than before. Alastair smiled into the blood-sticky taste of him. “Want to take some of that pie to go?”


End file.
